


Digestif

by infandomswetrust



Series: Redemption [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Love, M/M, Memories, Nostalgia, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, foodporn, that's what this entire show is, that's what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:46:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1802506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infandomswetrust/pseuds/infandomswetrust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Sometimes only one person is missing, and the whole world seems depopulated.</em>  -Alphonse de Lamartine </p>
<p> </p>
<p> There's a lot Will misses about Hannibal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Digestif

Will was sitting on his porch and stared at the sky. Winston lay loyal by his side while the rest of the pack ran around in the garden. The sun was up, the sky was blue and cloudless; a beautiful day. At least that’s what anyone else would have thought. Will had seen beauty, _true_ beauty through his own eyes and through the eyes of so many others. He wasn’t feeling bad, though. Better, in fact than he had for months. He could still appreciate the sun, though the warmth never reached inside. Hardly anything reached inside, literally. Will couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. He felt slightly sick, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. A long time ago, he had constantly forgotten to eat if no one reminded him. Now, he was awfully aware of the absence of said reminder, rather than the absence of food. It wasn’t that he had lost his appetite, he just didn’t want to eat. Ludicrous as it sounds, apart from their last encounter, eating was the most intimate experience he had shared with Hannibal. There was hardly anything as intimate as eating with Hannibal, especially knowing the ingredients. So now, whenever he was eating, _if_ he was eating, something was missing and he felt the void even stronger than usual. It didn’t seem fair. It wasn’t fair. After everything Hannibal had taken from him. Not even one of nature’s most primal needs remained _his_ , Hannibal had taken full control, taken everything. He remembered the first meal he had ever shared with Hannibal. Remembered the taste of what he was now sure had been Cassie Boyle.

_Where’s Crawford?_

_Deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today. May I come in?_

How wary he had been and how easily he had warmed up to the strange man who seemed to see him differently than everyone else.

_How do you see me?_

_The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by._

The man who seemed to understand him. How ironic their conversation now seemed. All the conversations, all the metaphors, so many different meanings and he could finally see all of them. Understand all of them. He also understood the sincerity. He hadn’t been a toy to Hannibal. He hadn’t been a game. He had been a seed, carefully placed in a secret garden of beauty and Hannibal had wanted him to grow, to trudge through the heavy earth and _see._ Become.

_God forbid we become friendly._

_I don’t find you that interesting._

Sincerity in all his words, often just too twisted to understand back then. Too many variables.

_You will._

He remembered the second time he had eaten with Hannibal. Well, not _eaten_ , but Will hadn’t been drinking much lately either. Especially not coffee.

_Never apologize for coming to me. Office hours are for patients, my kitchen is always open to friends._

He had been staring, he knew he had. It wasn’t so much the grace and elegance the doctor always seemed to have, although Will had been staring at that often enough too, it had been the unusual sight of him in a dressing gown. So…casual. So harmless. The wolf in sheep’s clothing. It had made Will feel all the more like an intruder. But he had had nowhere else to go. He had needed his anchor. He had lost control for the very first time. The first crack in the teacup. A crack forced upon him.

_I wouldn’t say forced. Manipulated would be the word I’d chose._

_I can handle it._

How wrong he had been. He’d never had a chance of handling Hannibal. Never.

He remembered the first time he had seen Hannibal cook, hours after he had seen him saving a man’s life. He had been staring on both occasions. Now it seemed almost impossible he hadn’t made the connection. Maybe he would have, if he would have stayed. Probably not.

_Are you sure you can’t stay?_

_I don’t think I would be good company._

_I disagree._

A quick glance, a short meeting of eyes, the hint of a smile. Sincere, yet calculated. He remembered the smell. How good it had smelled. How natural it had seemed, how comfortable Hannibal had been. How comfortable he had made Will feel. Comfortable and unsettled at the same time. Only he could have that effect on Will.

_I have to go. I have a date with the Chesapeake Ripper._

Will felt his lips tugging upwards into a disgusted smile. Looking back, it all seemed like a morbid black comedy. Something a lonely mind wrote to entertain others. His story seemed like a joke. Humor truly was an intriguing characteristic. What some might laugh about, others might cry about.

His stomach hurt. He remembered now, the last time he had eaten. Wednesday. He had dreamed of Beverly. They were standing by a waterfall, he on the foot, she on top. She had been staring down at him. Cold water had been streaming around his legs, but he hadn’t felt a thing. She had extended her hand, and dropped something down to him. A heart. When he caught it, it was still pulsating. Suddenly he had realized there was a hole in his chest. A void where his heart should be. A hand had appeared in his field of vision. Someone was standing behind him. He had glanced up at Beverly. She smiled. The hand had covered his own, holding the heart, interlacing their fingers. All he had wanted to do was turn around. Let him take his heart and turn around. Just to see him. When he had woken up, his chest had hurt and his heart had been pounding.

He had walked into the kitchen and ate an apple, just to do _something._ Two hours later, he had lost the apple again. Probably because before that, he hadn’t eaten in three days. His stomach had probably been pretty fucking upset. Funny how it had never been upset about eating human flesh.

The next time he had eaten with Hannibal was after he had kissed Alana.

_Wondering then why you kissed her, and felt compelled to drive an hour in the snow to tell me about it._

Also after Tobias Budge had dined with Hannibal, but of course Will hadn't known that back then.

Why had he kissed her, apart from the obvious reasons? The animal in his chimney. His encephalitis developing. Getting more aggressive. Coming out to play. But he had also truly felt drawn to Alana. She had always been very kissable. Will was not immune to physical desire. The kiss with Alana had been rushed, triggered by fear, triggered by self-doubt, but it had been an outcome of desire nonetheless. The night with Margot had been triggered by a burden shared. Loneliness. Desperation. Yet also desire.

The kiss with Hannibal had been something completely different. Desire was there, but it wasn’t so much sexual. It was sensual. A sensual kind of love, truer than anything Will had experienced in his life. A feeling, anchored so deep within in the soul, so primal, so initial, so unexplainable. Not the kind of love a couple shares. Not the kind of love a mother feels towards her son. Not the kind of love siblings feel. Not the kind of love friends feel. Something far more complex than that. Perhaps the kind of love Judas felt for Jesus on Will’s part. Perhaps the kind of love god feels for his creations on Hannibal’s part. Stronger, deeper and darker than any other emotion. The very origin of love.

Hannibal had given him what Alana couldn't. Wouldn't. He loved the parts of Will that had made her keep her distance. He loved every part of Will. A bond, completely untainted, completely unconditional. A feeling that was just there. Didn’t have to be created, just had to be freed. Love.

_I feel unstable._

_That’s why you kissed her. A clutch for balance._

He didn’t have to clutch at Hannibal. Hannibal had carried him safely, gently. Until he had let him drop, but even then, he had given him something to clutch at. A kiss. And a sentence that was so clear to both of them, finally voiced. A sentence, that Will believed had started to form that same day he had kissed Alana. Just a few hours later, a mutual uncertainty, the threat of a loss, and something new had begun.

_I was worried you were dead._

Sincerity.

Of all the meals shared with Hannibal, two stuck out the most. The first time Will had knowingly and willingly eaten human flesh. Not Freddie, and Will didn’t actually know how to view that fact anymore. A mistake? Still, outcome of his own hunt. Although, Randall had been the one hunting, hadn’t he? He had just underestimated his prey. Had been manipulated into underestimating. The taste still seemed to cover Will’s tongue and he couldn’t really care anymore that it was anything but unpleasant. Moralities were long lost. There was no place for moral when one had to decieve it in order to achieve it.

The second meal that stuck out was their last supper. His last chance. A chance to be happy, but he had refused. Refused to be happy because he couldn’t face what made him happy. Nobility or cowardice? There was one emotion Will still clearly felt. A lone survivor in the void of emptiness. One emotion that plagued him day and night. That made everything inedible to him.

Regret.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You have no idea how hard it was to pinpoint all the meals without watching the entire first season again...


End file.
